“I changed my mind,” I replied. “I’m on whateva you on, so be careful choosin’ how we finna act.” Fuck trying to be nice to Pen. She wanted to take her frustrations out on me, and I wasn’t about to let her.
She snorted. “That’s easy; leave me the fuck alone. That’s what I want you to do. Act like I don’t exist. We both know you gon’ ghost me as soon as you get what you want. Then, you’ll be that same nigga I met months ago.”
Inside, the heart I thought Pen would one day own shriveled up at her nasty-ass attitude. There was plenty I wanted to say. Hell, I needed to defend my character from her sharp tongue. Instead, I pushed the gas, hurrying to her place.
“You got it,” I said, focusing on the road. I’d give her exactly what she wanted. Never in my existence had I been somewhere where I didn’t want to be. I genuinely cared for Pen and wanted the best for her. My actions showed that. The way I treated her proved that. If she wanted to shit on my kindness and friendship, then I’d respectfully back the fuck up.
We’d grown in the months since we’d met. I considered Pen the only female friend I’d ever had. Shit was deeper with the two of us, but apparently, she thought my genuineness was bullshit. Here I was, steadily encouraging her and uplifting her in any way I could. I went out of my way to cater to her because I genuinely fucked with her.
Tonight, however, she’d taught me a valuable lesson. Just because I poured encouragement, time, energy, and love into someone, didn’t mean they’d poured those things into me. I was sitting there empty just to make sure Pen stayed full. It was time out for that shit, especially since she didn’t appreciate me or my efforts worth a damn. I understood her frustration better than anyone and did what I could to keep her out of her own head. Pen was her own worst enemy, and she was too blind to see that.
Minutes later, I pulled into her driveway. Without cutting the engine, I got out, opened her door, then retrieved her things from the back seat. Quietly, she climbed out of the truck, then went to open the front door. Behind her, I waited for her to let me in. Once inside, I placed her things in the foyer, then turned on my heels.
“See you later,” she uttered.
I closed the door without saying shit back. She wouldn’t see me anywhere if I had anything to do with it. I drove home withTank blasting, in my feelings like a muthafucka. Any minute now, I thought Pen would at least text or call to apologize about her attitude, but no such message or call came through.
Later that night, I moved through my house, washing clothes and cleaning. Dinner consisted of a pizza that I half-ate, and three beers. I caught myself wondering if Pen had eaten and cussed myself. Caring too much about her had me mentally unstable.
Stretched out on the couch and nodding off, I jumped when my cell phone rang. Snatching it up, quick as hell, I was mad when the caller wasn’t even Pen. I almost ignored the call like any other time this number appeared, but instead, I answered it.
“Wow, I’m surprised you answered. You need some company?”
The time was after midnight, but I said, “Yeah, I’m comin’ through.”
“See you soon,” she replied.
Rubbing at my eyes, I got up, dressed, and was out of the door within ten minutes. Sadly, Pen had missed out on a good thing. I wasn’t going to beg her to need me or appreciate me. I could go not only to where I was appreciated, but where nothing more would be required of me. I should’ve stayed doing me, instead of falling for a woman who wasn’t ready to receive what I had to offer.
To think, I hadn’t been with a woman since I met Pen. Now, I laughed at myself and pondered how fucking dumb I was for giving a fuck about her. Fuck trying to be a good friend, let alone a good nigga. As I drove towards Charmaine’s crib, I shook my head. Obviously, good niggas weren’t appreciated anymore.
At work the next morning, I drowned myself in paperwork to keep my mind off of Pen. Busting down Charmaine’s throat hadn’t done the trick to ease my mind. The aggression built up inside of me still brewed despite my efforts to rid myself of it. Just like when I first met Pen, she ruled my thoughts and wreaked havoc on my life.
An incoming call on my cell phone had me setting aside the paper I’d been staring at for several minutes.
“‘Sup, Pops,” I answered.
“What you up to?”
“I’m at work. I’m always at work.” I chuckled.
“I guess I should ask, what’s on ya mind?”
“Nothin’, why?” I lied.
“I had a dream ‘bout you last night,” he started, causing me to groan. Whenever he told me his dreams, I paid attention even if I couldn’t stand them or understand how he did that shit.
“Don’t groan like that.”
“Come on, Pops, don’t ruin my day.”
Guffawing, he retorted, “Shut yo’ big head ass up! When since any of my dreams been bad?”
It was my turn to stare at the phone dumbfounded.
“Remember that time when I was in tenth grade, and you had a dream I broke my wrist?”
Pops chortled. “Okay! But it wasn’t tragic, son. Ya wrist healed perfectly.”
